


Fen se Faal Stahdim

by The_Captain



Series: The Cons of Being Dovahkiin [9]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blood and Violence, Daedra, Dovahzul, Dragons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sequel, Series, apocrypha, oblivion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-08-29 15:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16746895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Captain/pseuds/The_Captain
Summary: Sequel to The Will of DaedraMera is gone.Thinking her dead, her allies struggle to keep their footing as the world crumbles around them, leaving Mera to find her way out of Hermaeus Mora's grasp. But Mera is not the only dragon that's kept within the Daedra's realm and together, they will have to fight to free themselves from their prison, but there are questions Mera wants answered before she can leave the horrid place. Questions Hermaeus Mora promised her the knowledge to. Will she be able to discover who she is while still making it out in one piece?Dragons grow restless, and the Civil War rages on all while Mera lays trapped in the depths of Apocrypha. The world needs a Dragonborn, but will she be able to get out in time to save it?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised you a sequel, and now it's time I delivered! This work is still in its infancy, but I'm finally confident enough that I can begin posting chapters. This is going to be a long one, but with shorter chapters than the Will of Daedra had. Updates will hopefully come at least once a week. Offerings of comments may expedite this process. 
> 
> Tags will be added as the story progresses to hopefully keep some sort of element of surprise involved. The only significant warnings for this fic come in the form of graphic descriptions of violence. I will add warnings before chapters where that is particularly relevant. 
> 
> Now, please enjoy Fen se Faal Stahdim!

Atop _Monahven_ , _Wuth Gein_ meditated. The wind around him whipped up a flurry of soft snow that pelted his worn scales as he kept his eyes closed. Above him, the distant _thu’um_ of the red winged fury reverberated through the sky. For many months, that same sound brought him _drem,_ peace, but now he could not ease the turbulence inside of him.

Paarthurnax would not venture to call the feeling that settled in his _sil_ to be _traas,_ grief. He did not know mourning as _joorre_ did, and he certainly did not mourn the mortals themselves. Their lives were so fleeting, only a passing moment, a grain of sand in the hourglass of _Bromah_ , so it did not suit him to grieve their passing into Aetherius. However, when he thought on Dovahkiin, which was more often than he would prefer to admit, he found his head lowered with the weight of the loss.

He had hoped she would do many great things in her time on Mundus, and that her actions would alter the snow covered terrain of _Keizaal_ for the betterment of _joorre._ But now, with her death at the hands of _deyra_ , the false gods, that wealth of potential was buried beneath the powder that fell constantly from the _lok_.

The sound of wings cutting through the air drew Paarthurnax’s tired gaze. He lifted his head, catching sight of Odahviing as he came down to the ground with a thud.

“What brings you down from the skies of _Keizaal_ , _Od-ah_? _Grit hi yah dii mindiir, Odahviing._ ”

“ _Nid,_ it is not your counsel I seek. A _dovah_ flies this way _._ I’ve seen dark wings on the horizon, they grow nearer with each breath.”

Paarthurnax hummed, looking to the sky. “Who?”

“Vultoornax,” Odahviing said in his rasp. “I would recognize him anywhere.”

“ _Vultoornax_ comes here _? Druv_?” Paarthurnax moved his wings in a harsh motion, perching taller as he glanced to the sky.

“You know why,” was the snow-hunter’s answer as he lifted into the air only to land on a rock formation not far from the wall where Paarthurnax perched.

There was not more time for Paarthurnax to question the younger dragon further. It was then that he looked up in time to be oven taken by a shadow as it descended from the sky. Between Paarthurnax and Odahviing landed Vultoornax, looking the same way he had millennia ago when Paarthurnax had laid eyes on him last.

Vultoornax had once ranked among Alduin’s most respected generals. With a ruthlessness that led to his namesake, he had always been a favorite of the _Thur_. From his center, he appeared to be black, but the further the eyes traveled towards the tips of his wings and to his claws and teeth, the redder he became. He was a deep, dark red, like blood that pooled and clotted as it spilled from a mortal wound – a stark difference from Odahviing’s brilliant crimson that drew the eyes of all as he flew past. He was narrower than Paarthurnax by comparison, but wider than Odahviing, and down his spine grew sharp, pointed spikes that threatened any that would attempt to attack him there. His red eyes settled on _Wuth Gein_ , piercing with unabashed bravado as he landed with enough force to shake the earth.

“ _Drem yol lok, Vultoornax._ What brings you to _Monahven_?” Paarthurnax asked, leveling a hard gaze towards the smaller dragon.

 “I have come seeking answers,” Vultoornax said as he examined the elder dragon. “Is it true? I heard the sound of the half-breed’s death. I want proof.”

“You have heard correctly. She has fallen.”

Vultoornax released a pleased roar. “It is about time. How many of our kind did she slaughter before she fell?”

“They were battles that her rivals chose to fight. Hardly a slaughter,” said Paarthurnax.

“ _Geh_ , though we hardly afforded Miraak the same opportunity for defiance. Now, where is the mortal buried? I’d like to see her bones for myself.”

Odahviing rumbled lowly, tail cutting through the wind as he lowered his neck in a threatening stance. With heavy thudding steps, Vultoornax turned enough to see him. “Ah, Odahviing. It’s been long since I’ve seen you, _grutiik wah Alduin._ ”

Odahviing gnashed his teeth in frustration. “I am no traitor! _Alduin sahlo_! Weak! But Dovahkiin proved the strength of her _thu’um_. Both over myself and _usliik thuri_. He claimed to be _unahzaal_ , unending, and yet here we are. Only a fool supports the dying cause of a weak leader.”

“And so you betrayed him., leaving to find the next most powerful _dovah ko lok_!” Vultoornax’s voice took on a harsh hiss. “And so you’ve done again. Wherever there is growing power you are never far behind, grooming the backside of those stronger than you! With Dovahkiin gone, I’ve heard Paarthurnax has tried to claim the title of _thur._ And here you stand. At his side. Mere days after the death of ---“

“Enough!” Odahviing bellowed, smacking his tail into the rocks beneath him.

“She is not buried here,” Paarthurnax said, drawing the attention back to himself with an even tone. “And we do not know where her burial mound rests. You should go elsewhere with these words, and leave this _strunmah_ in _drem_.”

The two red dragons were silent as Vultoornax turned to face the elder, looking him over with a tilted head. “ _Tiid_ has treated you poorly, Paarthurnax,” Vultoornax said, “You’ve been stagnant on this _strunmah_ and your body shows it. And now you venture to believe you can command me?”

“Leave in peace,” Paarthurnax repeated.

“Well no more. I took the last of my orders with the fall of Alduin.”

“Vultoornax!”

“You are unfit to be _thur_!” Vultoornax bellowed, and his voice seemed to shake the top of the mountain as he reared up and landed back down with a powerful thud. “You preach _drem_ with the _joorre_ , but they will kill us all if they had the chance. We should rule them, like we always did. And with Dovahkiin gone, there is nothing that could stand in our way.”

“You speak the words of a young fool,” the elder scolded. “Do you believe your _thu’um_ to be greater than mine?”

“I know it to be,” he growled, “the question is: will you fight to prove me wrong?”

This was not a fight Paarthurnax could win. He knew this to be true. He was old, out of practice, and his last fight with Alduin was a harsh, cruel reminder of how long it had been since his last battle. Vultoornax was correct; he had allowed his body to grow soft. Agreeing to a suicidal fight would do nothing to aid the _joorre_ should he lose. Steam turning to clouds from his nose, he exhaled and lowered his head.

“I will not.”

Odahviing rose, appearing ready to protest, but before he could let loose his _thu’um_ , Vultoornax turned his head to the sky and let out an earth-shattering roar.

“You think you could stop the _joorre_ now?” Odahviing hissed. “They’ve grown bold.”

“Perhaps, _zeymah_ , they have. But we’ve conquered them before, we can do it again. All it takes is a willing leader to lead the charge.” As Vultoornax spoke, _dovah_ began to slowly appear. They flew in, landing on different places on the mountain, heading the call of one of Alduin’s last great generals. “Unless you plan to contest my claim?” He said, his eyes turning to Odahviing. “I would love nothing more than to put you in your place.”

Odahviing lifted his head, teeth bared, but his eyes caught sight of more approaching _dovah_. Paarthurnax leaned forward off his perch, trying to catch Odahviing’s attention with a shake of his head. Vultoornax would not fight fairly. He would rally the other _dovah_ and tear the red dragon to shreds.

With a harsh, angry snarl, Odahviing turned his head, glancing off at the horizon. 

“I didn’t think so. Z _eymahhe_ ,” he said, addressing the growing crowd with a roar. “ _Dovahkiin lost mahlaan!_ No longer will we allow a half-breed to control us. Should we be resigned to living in fear of _joorre_? Scattered across _Keizaal_ and hiding on our _strunmah_ like cowards? Or shall we remind them who controlled Tamriel long before they thought to cross Nirn?”

A chorus of roars met his cry. A few short words and all of Paarthurnax’s work towards peace was undone.

What could pass for a wicked grin crossed Vultoornax’s lips, and his eyes settled on Odahviing as he watched in silence. “Good. Now, we have work to do.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dovahzul was heavy in this chapter, I know. Hopefully, this wasn't too complicated to make out. The translations are all short, so I didn't see fit to include them, but if you'd like to know more, check out https://www.thuum.org/translate-legacy.php
> 
> And follow me on my Tumblr, https://paar-pahlok.tumblr.com/


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! This chapter contains graphic descriptions of violence that may be upsetting to some people.

Drowning. Mera was drowning. Her first conscious intake of breath burnt the whole way down, searing her throat and weighing heavy in her lungs. Mouth falling open she coughed, the force of it wracking in her chest and bringing bright blinding pain. She felt heavy, sinking in a void and frantically she flailed, trying to bring herself up to the surface but she couldn’t move. Bound tight and held still by every limb, her eyes flew open in shock.

It all was green. Dark, endless and green, spread out like an open void before her with seemingly no walls or floor. Mera forced her head back and looking up revealed a sea of sickly tendrils slithering through the sky. Two extended down and wrapped around each of her wrists, holding them spread above her head. Her eyes widened at the sight of them. That explained the weighted pain in her shoulders, as well as her inability to move, and she pulled, trying to kick her legs to fight against their grip. The same sharp, impossible pain burned through her torso once again as she strained, unable to move her legs.

The effort left her sweating, gasping for breath as her head hung forward. Her mind swum with what she saw, bile threatening to rise in her throat.

She was naked, completely, stripped of all armor and clothes, leaving her bare to the elements. Thick, black blood covered her stomach, dripping freely from the gaping hole in her torso. The blood ran from her open wound down her pelvis, over her hip bones, between her legs, and over her thighs. It faded into a lighter red the further it got from the wound, only to get thick again closer to her side, in an area she couldn’t quite see from that angle. There was a thin, red slit in her chest as well, to the right of her heart, looking more like a bloodied pair of lips than her own flesh. Her heart raced, thudding painfully in her chest as she renewed her struggle. She had to stop the bleeding. Her stomach contracted with her rapid breathing and hot, pained tears pricked in the corner of her eyes.

“Easy, Champion,” the familiar slime of Hermaeus Mora’s voice sounded and she shuddered violently as it washed over her. Then the Daedric Lord blinked into existence before her, seemingly appearing out of his void as one massive eye floated before her.

Now she remembered. Now she knew where she was.

“Welcome…. to Apocrypha,” he said, single pupil focused on her face.

Hircine. Sanguine. The monsters and the arrow. It all came rushing back to her like flood water after a storm. The very memory of what happened hurt her like a knife that cut her open and left her spilling out into the void below. She almost wished that would happen. Almost.

She’d wanted Sanguine to take her. To save her. To heal her and _keep_ her. It’d been that or death, and death was chosen for her by a swift arrow to the chest, courtesy of Nocturnal. Of Brynjolf.

That hurt the most. More than the wound in her stomach or the ache in her shoulders from hanging for so long. More than the heavy, hot air in her lungs. His betrayal stung worse than it all.

And in the end, when Hermaeus Mora called out to her, she didn’t put much thought into her answer. Into her yes.

“Yes… take it in.” She felt the tendrils constrict tighter around her wrists, around her ankles, sliding up her legs and down her arms to hold more of her. “Do you… remember the events that lead you here?”

Sluggishly she nodded, her head slumping forward as her mind numbed. Dimly, she was aware that she could be dying, really dying this time, and that Hermaeus Mora seemed fine with just watching her drip blood into the darkness below.

A tentacle cupped under her chin, forcing her head to lift back up so she was looking him in the eye. “Speak.” He commanded. “Tell me… what transpired?”

Mind swimming, she swallowed thickly before attempting to talk. “I-” her voice cracked at the simple syllable. Throat raw, she tried again. “Hircine caught up to me,”

“As I said he would. Continue.”

Mera felt dizzy. Could he not see that? She was dying, and the Lord kept pressing her, asking questions that he surely already knew the answers too. Eyes closed tight, she shook her head. No. Later. Now she needed rest. She needed to rest…

A deep, unnatural sound came from the Lord, and quick as a whip a long tendril wrapped it's way around her stomach, circling the area between the wound on her stomach and the one on her side and squeezing, sending pain shooting up to both. Her mouth fell open with a strangled scream.

“Speak…. When you are spoken to, Dragonborn.”

“Hircine was going to kill me and then… something… something came…?”

“Lurkers. Demora of my realm. I sent them to distract the Huntsman.”

His words floated through her head. That made sense, yes. Someone had to send them, she just hadn’t realized it’d been him. The tentacle circling her threatened to squeeze once more, and she rushed to continue, falling over her words. “San… Sanguine found me. He, he offered me sanctuary but… Nocturnal. A Nightingale shot me.”

“Once your allies… they betrayed you. As I anticipated.”

She closed her eyes, willing the pain away as she finished. “And then you came.”

“And then I came,” Hermaeus Mora repeated languidly. “I saved you, did I not?”

Mera nodded and he squeezed. “Yessss….” she hissed out.

“You would have perished if not for my intervention.”

Hazily, she realized what he wanted. Gratitude. She owed him her life, now - a prospect that made her naked body shudder - and he wanted to hear her grovel before him. Mera grit her teeth and closed her eyes. Had she not been in such a vulnerable position…

“I thank you, Hermaeus Mora,” she gasped out, lifting her head to look at him directly. “You… your timing could not have been better. I have you to thank for keeping me out Hircine's trophy room. You offered me sanctuary, and I'm grateful.”

“And you accepted,” the words were like oil in her ears, “The promise of knowledge, of power, it drew you to me the way it draws all those with minds that can comprehend it. And now, you belong to me, Champion.”

Knowledge. That had been the exchange promised. Should she swear herself to him, give herself over to the Daedric Lord completely, he’d give her knowledge. Later, this also extended to his sanctuary, and his saving her life, but still, the lure of what he knew, what she could know, had brought her here.

Her weakened heart fluttered in her chest.

“You…. you offered me knowledge.”

“That I did.”

“Who am I?” He was silent, and she mustered up the strength to speak again, louder and with more force this time. “Who am I? You told me you would tell me who I am. If I came with you.”

“Yes… I did. And I will tell you, in time. Along with many other things,” he inhaled slowly, “But first you’ll pay your price,”

“Price?”

“The price of sanctuary does not come freely. My… Involvement in your rescue did not go unnoticed. Hircine, Sanguine, Nocturnal - they may retaliate… so you have me at a…. Disadvantage.”  

She tried to focus on his words and the implication of it. “But you said-”

“Yes, yes, I said that if you…. Were to come with me to Apocrypha, I would teach you. But the situation grew more complicated, as they do.”

Mera closed her eyes, squeezing them together tightly as she exhaled a pained breath. Being held in his debt didn’t sit well with her. “What would you ask of me?”

“Your presence here may be more trouble than you are worth to me. As a refugee, you are nothing. It would certainly be beneficial to me to simply… allow you to perish.”

As he paused to inhale, Mera resisted the urge to squirm. She knew he was baiting her, stringing her along with his drawn out request of her. She didn’t think he would go through the trouble of dragging her in here, only to let her die

“Swear yourself to me,” he growled out the words, and his tentacles slid across her bare skin. “Forsake your Divines, forsake the lesser Lords. Swear me your fealty, and serve me. Become my Champion and I will heal you, I will grant you my protections and teach you everything you’ve ever wanted to know.”

This was it. Her one chance to get out, even if that out was effectively death. She could say no. He would let her bleed out or kill her now and cast her body aside, but she’d be free of this place.

Or.

Or she could swear herself to the monster, agree to be his Champion, and be brought into a wealth of knowledge and power like nothing she’d ever find on the face of Nirn.

It wasn’t much of a choice.

“Yes,” she nodded, head heavy as she forced herself to look directly into the burning eye before her. “Yes, I swear myself to you, my Lord. I forsake all others, and I will be your Champion.”

“Excellent,” the Daedric Lord purred the words, and his swirling void approached her. “Worry not, Dragonborn,” From the mass of sludge surrounding his eye, more tentacles spring forth. “For now you are _my_ Champion,” one lashed out, wrapping around her upper chest, under her arms, “I will purge you of the influence of all those who are inferior to me,” a smaller one, thinner by comparison to the rest, came forward until hovered before her face. “And once I heal you…” one last tendril reached out, snaking towards her torso and resting inches from the gaping, dripping wound in her stomach.

Without warning, he plunged it inside.

“I will make you _stronger_.”

A scream, raw and powerful, ripped its way out of Mera’s throat. Her whole body curled as the limb pushed, deeper, further inside of her torso, rubbing up against intestine and muscle as it did. Vision white with agony, her head threw back as a shout with enough force to bring down mountains fell from her lips. She was so engrossed in the pain she barely noticed the new tendril until it buried its way into her side.  

From the points where he penetrated his influence and power spread visibly like a poison. Green and black spread out through her veins, infecting her entire body as it burned straight through her, marring her flesh as it moved, her body bulging out from where the tendril twisted under her skin. The wet, squelching sound of her insides moving had her retching, convulsing in a way that only seemed to tighten her whole body around the invading limb more painfully.

The whole time she screamed, Hermaeus Mora watched her, his one fat eye trained on her bare body as he blinked languidly at her distress. Unmoved. Uncaring. He was going to rip her apart.

The thin tendril near her face moved like a snake, slithering forward as she trashed and tried to pull away. Another shifted, wrapping around her forehead to hold her still as she wept and shrieked out her torment. And then the limbs inside of her took pause. It all stopped, just for a moment, just long enough for her to catch her breath and open her eyes, looking dead down the center of the tendril that floated before the Lord.

Without warning it lashed out in a strike, pushing into her very eye.

It didn’t pop. Not like she’d expect it to. Rather it slipped in as if it was using her pupil as a door to her brain and her soul, branching out from the inside to fill every corner of her mind.

Another anguished scream was torn from her throat as her vision went white, turning to a dark, dark green before she went completely numb.

Death would have been better than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the first chapter I wrote, and I originally wrote it almost immediately after I finished writing the Will of Daedra. I hope you all enjoyed it. As horrible as it may be, I'm very proud of how it turned out.
> 
> Anyway, my poor Mera :( She's hurtin bad babes


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooooooooo it's YA BOI

The sound of screaming echoed throughout Apocrypha, reaching down to the expansive library below. Miraak lifted his eyes lazily to the never-ending green sky, the hint of a frown tugging at the corner of his lip.

Odd.

In Apocrypha, he lived his existence alone. Aside from the Lurkers,  the Seekers, and Hermaeus Mora himself, the people left much to be desired. They were specters, spirits that wandered the library, unseeing and unresponsive to his presence. They cared only for the books. Always the books.

But that voice? The one that shrieked and wailed out in what he could only assume was agony, that voice sounded _alive._

In the millennia since his eternity in Apocrypha began, Miraak could not remember a single instance where Hermaeus Mora had brought another mortal into his realm for any purpose other than to fill the library with a larger fodder of souls. As far as he knew, Miraak was the only conscious and self-aware occupant, and when the Lord wanted to hurt those who had wronged him, as he appeared to be doing now, he normally kept that activity on Nirn. From his experience, Hermaeus Mora was not the type to play with his food for very long and the screaming? It went on without end.

Miraak would have found it annoying if he wasn’t so curious.

It carried on for what could have been days. Weeks. Months. He was never quite sure how much time had passed, but each time he thought the screaming would end, that source of the voice died or lost consciousness, it’d pick right back up again, filling Apocrypha with pained and desperate cries.

Until they stopped.

Miraak was hyper-aware of the absence of sound the moment it ceased. While the realm was usually filled with ambient noises, groaning, howling and slapping, it seemed silent in comparison to the echoing call he’d heard for so long.

From the vast, open sky of tendrils and eyes, he saw a figure lowered and placed down below.

Maybe Lord Mora wanted him to hear the screams.

Brows crossing under his mask, he hummed lowly. “ _Sahrotaar_ ,” he spoke, and the serpentine dragon lifted his head, “ _Voth zey_.” With confident steps he strode towards the dragon, throwing one leg over his large neck to mount him. “Bring me there.”

The familiar feeling of Sahrotaar’s muscles tensing beneath him had him tightening his grip on the dragon as they took to the sky, lifting up high into the thick air that swirled visibly above them. Then, they dove, down into a lower area as they threaded in and out of netted pathways to an area all but forgotten by the creatures that inhabited Apocrypha.

Peering down below, his eyes caught a limp pale form laying within a closed cell with an exposed top. At the sight of it, a harsh, rigid chill ran down his spine, causing his stomach to clench and the hairs on the back of his neck to rise in a way he hadn’t felt in centuries.

To feel a fight or flight response so intensely… For a moment, he considered commanding Sahrotaar away, but he pressed on, urging his mount to land on the surface below them.

Miraak tensed as they touched the ground, the force of it shaking him slightly. It was a feeling he was used to and was able to handle with grace after centuries of practice. The second he dismounted, Sahrotaar took to the air, circling the platform aimlessly while Miraak turned his attention to the figure trapped in the wall.

His body seized at the sight of her and he nearly physically recoiled from the shock of it. Even bruised, beaten, bare, and caged like an animal there was no mistaking it. This woman, this new plaything of Hermaeus Mora, was Dragonborn. He approached the edge of the cage with hurried steps, eyes wide beneath his mask until he could wrap his fists around the bars. He took in quick, uneasy breaths as his eyes darted across her naked form before he forced himself away.

Quickly, he shook his head and out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted something with a shine.

A key.

It rested unattended on a table not far from the door of the cage. Grasping it in one hand, he looked between it, the horrid door, and the woman trapped inside.

He knew instantly that he should kill her.

Lord Mora left her there, planning, _knowing_ he would find her, knowing what Miraak would think. If he were wise, he would take his sword from his belt and drive it through her heart before she even had the chance to wake up.

His hand moved to his hip, and he gripped the hilt of his sword with wide eyes. It’d be easy, he thought as he glanced at the key in his other hand. No armor, weakened by Hermaeus Mora’s torment; it would be over in an instant. Miraak was smart enough to know what this meant. With another Dragonborn around, he became significantly less valuable to the Prince. Miraak was now replaceable as Champion. This close to enacting his escape plan, Miraak didn’t need any threats to his position.

He tried to rationalize it. For over four thousand years he’d been trapped as a slave in Apocrypha. Killing this Dragonborn now would save her from that fate. Death was a small and simple mercy he could offer her. And with the power of her soul he could finally act, finally have control of his own destiny once more.

Mirraak opened the door.

He pulled his sword from the scabbard, gripping the hilt with both hands as he hovered above her. With a slow breath, Miraak closed his eyes and adjusted his grip. “ _Praan voth drem_. Rest well, Dragonborn,” he murmured, muscles tensing as he prepared to lunge.

But he didn’t. Gritting his teeth, he opened his eyes again, looking down at her bare sleeping figure. Hermaeus Mora had dumped her haphazardly onto the ground, like a discarded doll. Her chest rose and fell in quick breaths, labored from whatever torture Mora had put her through and he frowned.

Was this how he looked, when he arrived?

Indulging in his curiosity, he leaned forward, closer to her, holding the sword in a laxer position as he did.

And then it hit him.

Her strength, her power, he could feel it all, radiating from her soul and thrumming like the beating of a heart. Wide-eyed, he stumbled back, nearly dropping his sword in the process.

“...So you have slain Alduin?” he spoke lowly to himself. He didn’t need her to be awake to confirm it; he could feel the souls inside her. “Impressive.”

He knew she couldn’t hear him, and that he was essentially speaking to himself, but that could not stop him as he walked slowly around her. “Killing you would be a mercy. Who could know what Hermaeus Mora has planned now that he has us… has you.” Flexing his grip, Miraak steeled himself and then swung, arm tense as he attempted to bring it down on her.

But he stopped himself, mere inches from her skin.

No matter how much Miraak knew he should kill her, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not like this.

It was… wrong. In this realm, he had more power than she could possibly comprehend, an advantage that he could hold over her even if she were awake. But she, she who slayed the World-Eater, she deserved a better death than this, did she not? A proper battle, a fighting chance. It would be wrong of him to use the opportunity presented by Hermaeus Mora to take her out of the picture.

After hesitating for a moment longer, he returned the blade to his scabbard.

Damn it.

Cursing, Miraak lowered his gaze to her once more. She wasn’t unattractive, he noticed, with blonde hair that was similar to his own light locks. Her skin was pale, but not unscathed; there were plenty of scars to look at. With how she was placed on her side, he couldn’t see much of her, but he could see the series of fresh scars that covered most of her torso, and instantly he knew the cause. Dragon’s fangs were hard to misidentify.

Further up, he caught the telltale sign of Hermaeus Mora’s influence. Just below her ribs was a fresher wound, covered with a familiar dark, deep green that bled into her veins, spreading just beneath her skin. Subconsciously he brought his hand up to a place on his chest, rubbing at it through his robe. That explained her presence, then. History repeated, and once again the Lord had prevented the death of a Dragonborn. What did he promise her, he wondered? Something greater than his own Bend Will shout?

Miraak sunk to one knee beside her, one hand hovering just above her face. He wanted to touch her, badly. It’d been so long since he’d had contact with… _anything_ aside from the damned dremora and his mindless dragons.

Momentarily he allowed his thoughts to wander. Perhaps he could use her. If he wasn’t going to kill her yet, nothing said they need be enemies. With the strength of Alduin’s soul inside her, she must have been strong – nearly as strong as he was, even. Two Dragonborns stood a better chance than one at escaping. While he preferred to hold power for himself, this wouldn’t be the first time he’d made deals to further his goals. If she would give him whatever power Hermaeus Mora promised, then an alliance could be possible.

Or he could kill her and take her power for himself.

The fates had yet to decree which would be the better option.

“Cruel, of Mora to leave you so bare,” Miraak murmured under his breath. “Did he think he could tempt me? What did he imagine I would say, I wonder?”

Again, he moved his hand, only to stop before he could bush her hair aside as he had planned to. Abruptly, he got to his feet, closing his hand in a tight fist as he paced backward several steps. He glanced back at her prone figure, then to the door, before deciding to leave. Mechanically, he quickly shut the door, locking it, before pocketing the key.

“I’ll be back for you,” he said to himself before turning and summoning Sahrotaar to him once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOOOOOOOO  
> I've had this chapter written for SO LONG. I'm glad I finally got to use it! Miraak is finally here, though I would hardly call this a proper meeting. Soon enough, Mera and Miraak will exchange words! Hopefully. 
> 
> Updates may come less frequently now. I'm in the middle of finals and it's killing me, fellas. The good news is that I have a much better handle on where I plan to take this story. This plot is coming more into itself every day.
> 
> Please, please, please leave comments. They are what give me the energy to work on this. I need to know people are reading and enjoying and, if you aren't enjoying, why not. If you want to ask any questions or get a detailed response from me, my ask on my tumblr, paar-pahlok, is always open.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for making you all wait. Finals killed me and the holidays haven't been helping. Hope you enjoy!

 When awareness came, it came slowly, more like being pulled back from the dead than waking from a dream. Mera opened her eyes as she inhaled for what felt like the first time, and all she saw was the same, endless expanse of green that she saw the moment she had closed her eyes.

The only difference was that this time, there was no pain. At least, not yet there wasn’t.

Laying still on the ground, face up, she began by closing her hands into fists, flexing the muscles in her arms before letting them relax. So far, so good. Roll shoulders, flex toes. Clench jaw. She turned her head to the side, still lying flat, and let her cheek come to rest on the floor beneath her.

She closed her eyes tightly. She felt fine, so far. But that didn’t mean that she _was_. With a small amount of effort, she lifted her arm and brought it to rest just below her bare breast.

She didn’t want to know what her body looked like. She didn’t want to see what the combined damage of two Daedric Princes had left her looking like. Even now when she pictured herself, all she could see was her stomach bulging as Hermaeus Mora forced his tendril into her gaping wound. Retching with the memory, she clenched her teeth and slid her hand down to tough where she remembered a gaping hole in her stomach being.

And she felt nothing.

No.

She felt _something_ , but it certainly wasn’t a gory, oozing window into her intestines. Eyes popping open, Mera sprung up into a seated position and, ignoring how her head spun with the sudden movement, she looked down at her stomach as her mouth fell open at what she found.

Green. Green so dark and sickly it was almost black. The same green that surrounded her in the realm. The same green of Herameus Mora’s reaching tendrils. That was the green she saw replacing her skin, where Hircine’s spear once pierced her. The color spread beneath her skin like a visible poison in her veins, fading the further from the wound until it faded into the rest of her. Hesitantly, she used her hand to touch it once again. It felt like scar tissue, comparable to other previous healed injuries she had. Craning her neck, she strained to see her side, trying to find where her other injury was. It was the same as her stomach. Green. As it was with the arrow wound on her chest.

Green. It was all green. But it was healed, and she was no longer dying.

Shakily, Mera pushed herself up and to her feet. Her hand went to her stomach, ready to support herself should she feel the same stabbing pain from before, but the pain never came. It was the opposite, really. She felt _good_. Awake. Aware. Her body buzzed with the same energy she felt after a training session. Her muscles were tired, yes, but they felt well worked and strong.

Her arms itched to come up to cover herself, but modesty would hardly do her any good here, she realized, especially as her eyes fell on the closed gate that stood between her and freedom (if she could even call any time spent in Apocrypha ‘freedom’). Approaching the gates, she lifted her hands to wrap them around the bar, only to find they still shook. Funny. She tried to force them to stop, but they wouldn’t listen. Exhaling, Mera grasped the door and shook, but they barely budged enough to rattle. Eying the lock, she shook again before taking a step back. It looked sturdy, but maybe she could shout it open.

Steeling herself against the oncoming push, she leaned forward and opened her mouth, “ _Fus… ro d---_ ” she cut herself off with a harsh cough, her shout fading on her lips as her hand went up to grip her throat. Unlike the rest of her body, it felt raw. From her screaming, she realized, as images of Hermaeus Mora tearing her apart flashed through her mind. She held her head, stumbling back a step until her back hit the wall, where she slowly slid down until she was seated once more.

Looking up at the open air, she swallowed thickly before trying to speak again.

“Hhh…” she started with a rasp, “Hello?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded hollow, but Mera was determined. “Hermaeus Mora!” She called out, wincing as it made her throat ache. With still trembling limbs, she got back to her feet. She kept her hands clenched into fists at her side, and she faced the sky with as much strength as she could muster and yelled, “Answer me!”

But there was no reply

 

* * *

 

 

Mera pushed her recovering voice until she could no longer speak, waited until it came back, and then started yelling again. She screamed and kicked and made a fuss until, exhausted, she collapsed against the floor once more.

 

* * *

 

 

Mera grabbed the bars and shook, screaming. Cursing. _Damning_ the daedra who put here there.

Trapped. Like a bear. That was how Odahviing described it when he was trapped in Dragonsreach, right? Though, she supposed she at least had movement. Less like a bear then, or even a dragon. A pit wolf was much more appropriate. Pacing in its cage.

Pathetic.

But then again, she wasn’t even a wolf anymore, was she?

 

* * *

 

 

By now, she knew no one was listening, but she yelled anyway, grasping tight fists of her own hair as she did. When was the last time she heard a voice that wasn’t her own?

 

* * *

 

 

Mera’s head lulled lazily from her spot in the corner of the cage so she could glance at the door. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her eyes were framed by dark bags that stuck out harshly against her pale skin. She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin against them.

She licked her dry lips. “Was this what you wanted me for?” she asked quietly, her voice rasping barely above a whisper, “To keep me in a cage?” There was no answer. Of course there wasn’t. But she spoke again anyway. “What’s the point in that?” She bit her lip, tilting her head back to gaze up into the abyss. There was nothing separating her from the sky. No ceiling. No bars. Nothing.

“I wish I could fly,” she breathed out the words with a deep longing sigh “What’s the point of keeping a dragon that can’t fly?” She brought up her hand to wipe her face, finding it damp from tears she hadn’t even known she shed.

_Poor little dragon…_

Mera’s eyes popped open. “Hello?” she asked. A whisper ghosted through the room.

_Trapped, with no wings to fly away…_

“Who’s there?” she tensed, pulling her legs in as she shifted to get to her feet. She moved to the center of her small cell, eyes darting around the space. No response. She could have sworn she heard something…

_Poor little dragon…_

Mera turned, hand going to her bare hip as if she would find a blade there. “Show yourself!”

_Poor little dragon… where’s your father now?_

A laugh rang through her very body, shaking her to her core. A breath caressed her neck. A hand rested on her cheek.

Mera opened her eyes. She was curled up, small on the floor. Had she fallen asleep? Her body felt as if she’d been laying on the floor for hours. Groaning, she stretched her limbs and returned to her corner where she pulled her knees to her chest, dream fading from her mind.

It was wishful thinking that even a disembodied voice would call out to her now.

She wished she had an amulet. It’d been a long time since she had even thought of praying but now… Now she would welcome the imagined comfort that came with clutching Talos’s symbol to her chest, just as she did when she started her journey. Even with no family, she could always at least pretend she had the gods.

A sound. Outside of her cage. Mera’s head snapped up. She looked to the door. Footsteps? No. No. _Yes._ It was. But she couldn’t see. The lights. In the hall outside of her cell. They went out, one by one, shrouding an approaching figure in shadow until it reached the door. The bars rattled. A lock clicked. Mera scrambled to her feet and the door opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know, but I wanted to get it out to you. My poor baby. She is NOT having an easy time. As always, comments give me the will to continue writing this. Seriously. Tell me what you like, tell me what you don't like, tell me what you think could be improved, or tell me what you think is perfect. Anything helps!   
> Merry Christmas and happy holidays!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is folks

When the door opened, all Mera could think of was how desperately she wanted a blade at her side. Even with how little good it would do against any dremora in her state, it would be comforting to at least have the ability to run something through.

She didn’t have a sword. But she did have fists.

A figure stepped inside and Mera didn’t think. She didn’t wait. She just swung, aiming her fists for where a face would be on most creatures.

Shockingly enough, a very human feeling hand gripped her closed fist and tried to twist her arm back, which forced her to turn. She let out a surprised cry and she threw her elbow back to hit the figure’s body behind her.

A masculine grunt sounded behind her, but the source wasn’t deterred. He attempted to wrap one, strong arm around her stomach. With a loud cry, Mera was able to break free before he could secure her. She spun to face her attacker, and a fist connected with her stomach. With no armor to protect her, it knocked the wind right out of her, causing her to stumble backward a step as she took in air. He didn’t relent. Charging forward, he grabbed for her again. Mera dodged only barely, using her smaller stature to her advantage. This man was larger than her, sure, but she’d taken on bigger.

With weapons. And armor. Gods damn it all.

A hand grabbed her shoulder and forced her back, throwing her down and to the ground where she blinked in shock as her back smacked into the floor.

“You’re stronger than I anticipated. Well done.” The shockingly human voice was condescending. Harsh but breathless as he looked down at her as if he had won.

Mera would not go down so easily. She swung her legs, knocking them into his and he let out a startled grunt, hitting the ground with a much louder thud than she did. With him down, Mera flipped, and still on her hands and knees she moved to force herself to her feet, scrambling for the open cage door before a hand grasped tightly around her ankle. With one harsh yank, she smacked against the floor again as he dragged her back. Turning to face him, Mera opened her mouth and shouted “ _Fus… ro dah!”_

Smack back into the wall behind him, the body of her attacker went flying. In the time it took him to recover, she got back to her feet, breathing heavily as she looked to him with wide, wild eyes. Mera refused. She could now allow herself to be beaten and made to submit by this stranger. Not so soon after the humiliation she faced at the hands of daedra. He would taste the fury of a dragon. Eyes darting down, she noticed the sword at his hip. If she could get that from him, she could end this fight.

Mera charged him, a cry ripping through her lips as she put her shoulders forward.

But he was ready for her. _“Tiid klo ul!”_

Mera’s mouth hung open in shock as the world slowed. As _she_ slowed. She was used to the effect that slowing time could have when she was the one using the shout, but when someone else did it, it was suffocating. In the time it took her to inhale, the man was approaching in with steady steps. Still, Mera wasn’t sure if she’d be able to move even if he’d used a different shout.

Not once had another _human_ ever used a shout on her during combat. How could this happen? How could there be somebody existing in Apocrypha capable of producing a _thu’um_? At that moment, she couldn’t help but remember the last conversation she had with Odhaviing before Hircine caught up to her.

 _“Tell me,_ Dovahkiin _, do the_ deyra _trouble you?” She nods. “You would not be the first.”_

Unlike she would expect, the man hardly seemed interested in using the slow time to his full strategic advantage. He took his sweet time taking a hold of her as if he knew there was no way she could win their fight. As time came rushing back to her, he shouted again, “ _Fus ro_!” and Mera went flying back into the wall. Her head smacked against it, leaving her blinking to reorient herself.

“Stop fighting me, Dragonborn,” the man commanded as he approached her. He grabbed her shoulders and tossed her to the ground.

 _“He, too, was tempted by the_ deyra _and he fell to them.”_

While she was on the ground he climbed on top her, straddling her waist. The presence he gave off was overwhelming. It was like he was suffocating her with his very existence. He was clothed in robes with his face covered by a horrible mask. It reminded her heavily of Hermaeus Mora himself. In a last-ditch effort of self-defense, she clawed for the mask, aiming to rip it off his face. If she was going to be killed in such an undignified way, naked and caged, she wanted to know who defeated her.

She wouldn’t get that privilege.

 _“He had the help of the_ deyra _, and Words of Power as unnatural as your Dragon Rend. Words that have been forgotten._ Vodahmin _. Just as he has been.”_

Whoever he was, he was quick, and he pinned her wrists to the floor easily as he shifted his weight to hold her down. He switched so he could hold both wrists in one hand and Mera was confident that she was strong enough to break free. Or, she was until he wrapped his free hand firmly around her throat and squeezed mercilessly.

Mera gaped and like a fish out of water she flailed and fought. She was crushed, both under his weight and under the energy that seemed to ooze from his very body. Struggling, she managed to free her hands, immediately going to claw at his arm as her legs kicked uselessly. Once she almost managed to throw him off, but he was strong enough to keep her down as he squeezed her between his thighs. Gasping for breath, her face turned red and the mask moved closer to her face until she could see his eyes through the slits.

One blue and the other a horrid, horrid green.

 “Stop fighting me,” He repeated. “You’ve lost!”

Mera arms lost their fight. Though it was less due to his words and more due to her vision tunneling and the exhaustion that was taking over her body.  

The person on top of her kept his grip around her neck, though he eased the pressure as if to be sure she wouldn’t continue her fight.

“Ah, that’s better,” he said, his voice deep enough to be a rumble. She didn’t have time to respond before he was leaning in closer and hissing, “I did not intend to put you in such a compromising position, but it perhaps a display like this was necessary.”

The shock of him knowing who she was, the heavy presence he gave off… it was overwhelming. He tilted his head, looking down at her as if she were something he could crush under one boot. Like a dragon would its prey.

            “Who are you?” She rasped, voice harsh from when his hand had squeezed her.

                        _“Miraak was his name.”_

“I am Miraak. The first Dragonborn and rightful _thur_ of the _dov_!” He growled the worlds and for some reason, she thought of Alduin. “And you, the _last Dragonborn_ , you who slayed the World Eater,” he said her title, her accomplishment, like it was some silly little thing she’d done for fun. Like he was mocking her, “it would do you well to remember how this fight ended.”

“Fuck you,” Mera choked out, earning her a frustrated sigh.

“Are you finished?”

Mera’s only response was to bare her teeth. Miraak sighed again, though he did release her neck. In another moment, he was off of her and standing to the side as she got herself to her feet. Mera pulled back immediately, stepping away from him and moving further into her cell. She felt horribly exposed, and she moved her hands to cover herself.

Miraak. Not for a long, painful moment where she looked him over. It was impossible to tell much about him, covered in robes as he was, but she took note of the fact that, in addition to the sword on his hip, he has a horrible staff sticking up from behind him. And then there was the mas mask. The mask. Now she realized it must have been a mimic of a dragon priest mask. It covered his entire face, preventing her from being able to see any of what he might be thinking or feeling. She couldn’t even see his eyes through the slits from this distance, but by the way he faced her, she couldn’t get the idea of his eyes on her bare form out of her head.

“Did you just come here to gawk at me?” Mera spat, arms crossed over her chest as she bared her teeth.

“No,” he responded, and she was surprised by how deep his voice was when it wasn’t strained from their fighting. It seemed to echo back against the mast he was wearing. “I came to release you from this cage Mora’s been keeping you in.” His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned to face the exit. Back to her he said, “I saw clothing for you outside. I’m sure you are keen to cover yourself.”

He kept walking out of the cage, not stopping once to see if she was following. He didn’t seem to care if she went with him or not. Good. Mera sneered at his back as she walked out of her cage and into one of the many halls of Apocrypha. Good riddance. She didn’t need so-called first Dragonborn breathing over her, mocking her as she adjusted. She would do just fine without him.

Her eyes fell on a pile of what looked like clothing and she sighed. Straighten up, she walked with what dignity she still had to dress herself before walking out into the bulk of Hermaeus Mora’s realm.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was REALLY hard to write. I'm still getting a hold on Miraak's voice. I hope I did him justice. As always, please comment to let me know what you think, how you're feeling, your theories or where you'd like to see the story go. I'm eager to get your feedback and it makes me update more quickly!


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